I like this, Lawrence (& will now say that I am reading them all but may not respond to every single one).
The first line, & its 'this time,' suggests that point about returning to resee & resay.
An online publication might allow for links back & forth across some distance (& time?) among the poems collected...
Doug
On 2011-10-04, at 7:19 AM, Lawrence Upton wrote:
> A narrow and narrowing bar this time.
> Sea’s grabbed it as a harvest neck –
> this and strong fingers are tightening round.
> An hundred minutes till high tide.
>
> Almost all sand except southward
> where green wrack smells as fallen, dead,
> scattered from the living order.
> Down by The Cove edge, grey stones piled:
>
> skulls and bones pushed down by waves’ crush
> North, input increased incrementally
> till it crosses over. What had
> been intact is now damp and breached.
>
Douglas Barbour
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Why poetry? And why not, I asked,
my right brain humming sedition.
Phyllis Webb
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